Day 83: Two-Hour Delay

This morning I was awoken at 5:30 am.

 This is my re-enactment of the face I made.

It was not, as it often is, one of my children crawling into my bed in order to impose their love upon me via the strategic application of cold feet and rambunctious wiggling.  Nor was it my dogs, desperate to know why I was lying abed when there are SO MANY THINGS in the world and ALL OF THEM need to be peed on.

No, this morning I was awoken by my phone.

It was ringing.

Now, before you make assumptions about my own level of technical brilliance, let me assure you: I do know how to silence my phone.  Unfortunately, I was also instilled with a high level of paranoia at a very young age that SOMETHING MIGHT HAPPEN which required my attention, and that paranoia has only grown now that I have spawned.  So, while I know how to silence my phone, in reality I only put it on vibrate, with the dubious logic that if someone really needs me, they'll call, and I'll feel the vibrations and wake up, whereas the occasional late night rumbles of my brothers having a conversation about the Big Bang Theory won't disturb me.

Quiet, you.  It isn't your phone.  Just let me have my coping mechanisms and leave me alone.

 Morning.  My old enemy.  I greet thee.

Anyway, my phone rang at 5:30.  I, knowing full well what a complete asshat of a year 2016 has been thus far, automatically assumed something dreadful was happening.

Turns out I was right.

See, it was an automated call from the school system.  The kids have a two hour delay.

Why is that awful?  Well, lemme 'splain.

(1) First of all, I was supposed to take my brother to the airport this morning.  That was gonna work fine when the kids went to school at 8:25.  Not so much at 10:25.  I had to stick the poor boy on the commuter rail.  I hope he makes it.

(2) I had a doctor's appointment this morning.  Other parents had other things.  ALL OF US are now not going to do those things.  We're going to do other things instead, things involving our children, and scrambling for child care coverage, and trying to figure out how to fit our six hour day into four hours.

(3) It's not like I get to sleep in because of the two hour delay.  In fact, I actually had to get up over an hour early, because once I realized my morning plans were boned I had to get up and figure out how I was going to fix it.

Now, lest someone get all shirty and talk about the safety of the kids, I would like to be clear: I 100% fully support the school system in them making whatever schedule adjustments they feel necessary in order to keep the students and teachers safe.

 Doesn't look like much, but the inadvertent split I did in the driveway confirms, 

this stuff is slippery.

I'm just gonna grumble about it over here.  Because days with delays are like the worst of both worlds.  You still gotta deal with the school routine, but the actual routine gets broken.  It's balls.

Oh well.  At least Elliot is happy about it.  Charlotte, on the other hand, agrees with me.  Apparently the delay is cutting into her social schedule.

Me, too, baby girl.  Me, too.

Day 82: Hamilton Makes the Best Parodies.

Today, we're accepting that I'm childish.  Cause I wrote this, and it's totally childish, but I'm too gleeful not to share it.

If you're not familiar with Hamilton, this isn't gonna make any sense.  Fair warning.

Anyway, various and assorted gentle folk, I present to you my "You'll Be Back" Parody, written for our soon-to-be Commander in Chief.  *Edit: I'm still not a dude, but I gave it my best shot.  The sock puppet was a genius inspiration from my friend Brown.  Enjoy. 

I'm in Charge
You say
The price of my wall’s not a price that you’re willing to pay
You cry
Over each foul remark that I make, and each grandiose lie
Why so sad?
The founders created this system which leaves me in power
And it’s making me mad
That SNL doesn’t respect my ascendent hour…

I’m in charge, don’t you see
All you little folk belong to me
I can do, as I please
Watch me bring the country to it’s knees
Oceans rise, but I ignore
All the science that has come before
And you rich, you’re in luck
Cause I’ll help you screw the country over good, just to make another buck

Da da da dat da dat da da da da ya da
Da da dat dat da ya da!
Da da da dat da dat da da da da ya da
Da da dat dat da…

You say I am destructive and it can’t go on
But I know you’re just bitter because I won
And no, I don’t like data
Cause facts are just for haters
It’s true because I say it
And you’re all gonna play it
This game I created, you’ll play it because you can’t help it

I’m in charge, you’re all mine
And I like the situation fine
It’s not fair, it’s not right
(But we know that I can fix that with might)
I’ve got plans, soon you’ll see
The Bill of Rights will be history
Cause when push, comes to shove
Civil rights and equal treatment, social justice—they just are not things I love

Da da da dat da dat da da da da ya da
Da da dat dat da ya da!
Da da da dat da dat da da da da ya da
Da da dat—
Everybody!

Da da da dat da dat da da da da ya da
Da da dat dat da ya da!
Da da da dat da dat da da da da ya da da da da
Dat dat da ya da!

Day 81: When Someone Shows You Who They Are...

...believe them the first time.

This quote has been flying around online quite a bit, mostly as a response to the "wait and see" folks in regards to our new President-Elect.  But this past week I've been thinking about it in it's original context, as I've thought about my own life and talked to my friend quite a lot about hers.

I don't know why we, as people (possibly as women?  Although I'm not sure it's limited to women) have such a hard time believing in the reality other people choose to show us. 

Is it a biological trait, to focus on the hints of good even when we can see the glaring bad? 
Is it something socialized into us, by the fairy tale mythology of every story we're ever told, where if you love someone hard enough--either as a lover or a friend or a parent--you can save them from their own internal demons? 
Is it simply laziness?  Do we abhor the idea of trying to go out and form a new bond so thoroughly that we'd rather pretend our current bondee isn't a total asshat?

I don't know.  I don't know the cause.  But what I do know is that Maya Angelou was right.  People will say all sorts of things, but when someone shows you who they are, you should believe them the first time.  It will save you a world of pain.

People don't change because you care about them.  You do not have magical refining powers to draw the perfect diamond from a lump of coal.  It is possible for a person to change, but only if they want to.  Not because you want them to.

So, when someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.

It really is better that way.  I promise.

Day 80: Don't Apologize for Her Feelings

Grrrrrrr...

Can I just take a moment to acknowledge the biggest bullshit phrase in all of emotional communication?  Raise your hand if you've ever said this:

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

Now, if you meant "I am expressing sympathy that you feel something horrible" you can go ahead and put your hand down.  But if what you meant was "you've just told me about a series of actions I engaged in that were directly responsible for you feeling awful, but instead of apologizing for the actions which were callous and hurtful to you I am going to regret that you had FEELINGS ABOUT THEM" then you can just go ahead and take that upraised hand and slap yourself upside the head.

 Yeah.  That's pretty much how I feel about that.

Human relationships are complicated.  We're all responsible for our own feelings, and yes, sometimes a person will feel bad even when no one has done anything wrong.  I'm not suggesting that if someone says "hey, you walked through that door.  I didn't want you to walk through that door.  How dare you do such a hurtful thing!" that you should feel any kind of regret just for making an entrance. 

IF, on the other hand, you have done genuinely hurtful things, and rather than accepting your own actions and taking responsibility for said actions you choose to apologize for the feelings your moronic behaviors engendered then you, oh misbegotten remnant of humanity, are a complete and utter shit.

Try apologizing for something that has to do with you--that you, yourself are responsible for.  Like, say, your actions or your words. 

Don't apologize for her feelings.  (A) they aren't yours to take ownership of and (B) they don't require any apology.  Her feelings are a pretty natural response to the crap you pulled.

Your bullshit, on the other hand, will need several apologies filled out in triplicate.  Submit the originals to the main office, and I'll make sure they get filed appropriately.

Day 79: Life Doesn't Discriminate...

Today is Thanksgiving, and many of my friends have been posting on social media, saying what they're thankful for.  The lists are sweet and touching, and I want to post something similar, but the truth is that I can't find that place of gratitude this year.  

Don't get me wrong.  There are things in my life that I love beyond reason, but as 2016 draws to a close I find that I am not capable of simply appreciating what I love.  Instead I am filled with the desperate need to cling to what is dearest to me.  To arm myself against whatever might come along to snatch it away from me.  I do not feel grateful this year.  Instead I feel ferociously defensive, like a wolf mother crouching over her cubs, snarling at the world that threatens them.

In Hamilton, an American musical, there's a song sung by Aaron Burr called Wait for It.  I've got a lot of complicated feelings about that song, but I cannot deny that I get chills every time I hear it.  The chorus resonates so strongly with me that it makes my heart hurt.

Life doesn't discriminate
Between the sinners and the saints
It takes and it takes and it takes
And we keep living anyway
We rise and we fall
And we break
And we make our mistakes...

 

It's true, isn't it?  

 

I know I'm not the only one who has been feeling the impact of how impartial life is.  We have watched so many of our iconic artists die recently--some far too soon.  We have watched a string of incidents in which innocent people lost their lives at the hands of the police.  We have seen a rise in hate crimes among the population in just the past few weeks.  We have seen a Neo-Nazi group with a fancy new label actually join mainstream American politics.  We are currently watching state governments unleash deadly levels on violence on peaceful protestors in the name of the almighty oil dollar.  And that's in addition to the traumas that are, perhaps, more normalized for some of us, but no less painful.  The family members who have grown sick.  The friends and loved ones who are struggling against too many trials.  The wars, the diseases, and the never ending list of freak accidents that we hear about and pray never to experience.

Life does not discriminate between the sinners and the saints.  It doesn't care if you're good or evil, if you bring joy or sorrow, if you are alone or surrounded by people who love you.  To be alive is to be constantly at risk--constantly on the verge of losing everything you love.  I am too aware of that verge to be grateful.  Gratitude is an emotion of comfort, and I cannot find comfort anywhere within me.

This year, I am not grateful

This year, I am not counting my blessings.

This year I am full of a screaming defiance for the whims of a life that gives and takes in unequal measure and with no regard for merit.  I know that my insignificant human denial will change nothing, but it's all I have left to cling to when the specter of loss seems to loom over everyone and everything.  

It isn't really acceptance.  But at least it's better than despair.

Buckle Up

I wanted to mourn.

I woke up before dawn, and I couldn't sink back into sleep.  Instead as the sky grew lighter I watched my children's faces, thinking of their next four years.

They were at peace, but I was not.

I thought of how my son will start middle school under an administration that wants to cut the Department of Education.  Of how my daughter will be shaped by a country that willingly elected a man who has no respect for her rights to her own body.  I thought of these things and I wanted to mourn--to cry out and give voice to the fear and sorrow so many are feeling.

But I can't.

Because for me to mourn would mean that I have given up hope.  It would mean that I believe we are well and truly beaten.  And I don't believe that.  I don't believe it at all.

We are not done yet.

And I will not mourn.

It's true there are too many Americans who are willing to see Donald Trump in the White House.  It is a fear inspiring fact.  But don't forget, he may have won the electoral college, but he lost the popular vote.  Yes, there are many, many people who voted for him.

But there are still more of us.

You are one of us if you believe a woman has a right to say who can and cannot touch her body, and that no one, no matter how powerful or wealthy, can take away that right.

You are one of us if you believe that people of all ethnicities and all religions deserve fair and equal consideration in the eyes of the law.

You are one of us if you believe in compassionate support for those fleeing dangerous conflicts in their own home countries.

You are one of us if you believe that the children in our own country should have enough food to eat, clothes to wear, a warm place to sleep, and a decent chance at life.

You are one of us if you believe education is the path forward, and that access to education is one of the best gifts we can offer future generations.

You are one of us if you believe that climate change is real, and that we must alter our headlong trajectory into making our own planet unlivable.

You are one of us if you believe that facts and evidence are more important than rhetoric.  If you believe that rational discussion is better than abusive attempts at control.  If you believe that there is room for understanding and compassion even between people who disagree.

There are many of us.

Some of us didn't vote yesterday.  Some of us voted for another candidate.  That's in the past.  We can't change it.  What we can do is reach out to those all around and remind ourselves that we are many and that there is power in that.  The most effective movements towards justice in our country have always come from the populace, not the government.

We speak.  We make our voices heard.  We do not give up.

So I will not give up.

Buckle up, folks, cause it's going to be a bumpy four years.  You know what's coming down the pike.  There are going to be fights over Roe v Wade.  There are going to be fights over national health care.  There are going to be fights over immigration.  There are going to be fights over education.

Don't mourn.  Don't roll over and accept it.  Buckle up.

Climate change is a deadly calamity.  We cannot allow Congress and the President to ignore it.  Nuclear war is not an option, and we must make that clear.  There must be accountability among our law enforcement for the actions they take while wearing a badge, and if the states won't act to enforce that then the country must.

The words engraved on the Statue of Liberty still read "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free."  If we dream of being that nation--if we dream of being a refuge and a beacon of hope--then we must speak out again and again.

Don't mourn.  Don't cave.  BUCKLE UP.

This is a struggle for the soul of our nation.  Be ready to show up.  Not just on social media, but in the real, live world.  Learn the route to DC from your hometown, and figure out how to get there when we need to turn out in force.  Join the mailing lists for the groups you support, and when they have a rally drag yourself there so that your support can be noticed.  I know you have a life.  We all have lives.  That's why we have to do this--because the lives of all our future generations will be shaped by what we allow our country to become.

Write your Senators.  Write your Representatives.  Write our new President-Elect.  Let them know you haven't given up.  Let them know that we, the majority of the country, are still here.

Let them know that we are prepared.

Buckle up.

***

Below you will find a links to organized groups that are trying to effect change in some of these areas.  These are by no means the only groups available.  If you have a suggestion of a link to add, please let me know.


Injustice Boycott

350

AWID Women's Rights

National Organization of Women (please note the NOW website is currently busted)

Stand for Children

Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament

Refugee Council USA

Healthcare--Now!

Day 78: The Names We're Called

 
I've been called a lot of names in my (almost) 38 years.  I was sitting here, trying to come up with a list, and I realized I probably can't even remember them all.  Isn't that amazing?  I've had so many labels and slurs applied to me that I literally can't remember every single one.  Here are just some of the ones that made an impression:


Bookworm
Know-it-all
Weirdo
Show-off
Fatty
Teacher's Pet
Attention Whore
Drama Queen
Bitch
Slut
Control Freak


Those are pretty good, right?  I mean, they cover a decent selection of qualities.  And I could go into a lot here, about how maybe I never would have heard some of these if I'd been born a man, or how quick we are to turn on those that are outside the norm, even if they're outside it in a positive way.  But that's been discussed ad nauseum, and I think we all know the reality.  Anyone different gets bullied about their differences.  It's one of the less attractive features of being a pack species.

At any rate, I don't really want to talk about the names we're called in an attempt to hurt us.  I want to talk about the names, labels, and titles we're given by people that mean no harm.  Sometimes even people who love us.

And how very damaging those can be.

*deep breath*

Once upon a time I was in a relationship with someone, and they were very important to me.  I loved them very much, and so, when they told me something was true about myself--when they named a part of me--I tended to believe them.  When the mean kid in school had called me a bitch, I knew better than to believe her.  When everyone in college called me a slut, I knew where that rumor came from, and--although it hurt--I didn't let it sink into me and claim a piece of my identity.

But when someone I loved told me "oh yes, this is just who you are.  I'm not saying it because I'm mad, it's just true about you." I had no defense in place against this kind of announcement.  I didn't think I had to defend my sense of self against the opinion of someone so close to me.

"Surely," I thought somewhere down in my subconscious, "if they are saying it then it must be true.  Because they love me, and they would not lie about who I am."

Perhaps they would not have lied.  But that didn't make what they were saying the truth, either.

 Living as a version of yourself that is defined by someone else 

is like being a painting that someone has colored all wrong.

I spent years believing things about myself that were untrue.  Every time some part of me would try to refute the lies--to rise up and remind me that this wasn't really who I was--I would explain it away, dismiss it, refuse to listen to the inner voice that insisted that I was living inside a facade that wasn't really me.  I loved the person who had named these parts of myself, and I thought if I rejected their explanation of who I was, I would be rejecting them as well.

It never really dawned on me that, by accepting their labels, I was still rejecting someone.  I was rejecting the me I really was.

Eventually that relationship ended.  There was a cataclysmic fallout.
I was unhappy for a long time.
I was angry for a long time.
I was mourning for a long time.
Both the relationship and its ending left marks on me that will never fade.

But one day--one random day, with no particular significance--a piece of me that I had been denying for a very long time decided to come back and give it another go.

And that--that was a joy.

They've come trickling back.  Some of them are tiny things.  Some of them are bigger.  Some of them are life altering.  But having each one return is like having a long-lost family member walk through the door and announce that they're home.  I greet each one--big or small, good or bad--with such relief and affection.  I should never have let them go.  Now that they are back I will accept them as they are, because to accept them is to accept myself.

Not all of me is great.  But all of me is me.  And no one else--friend or foe--should decide what "me" means.

Day 77: It Took Over A Week...

Warning:  The following post contains discussions of sexual assault.

It's taken me over a week to write this post.

Partially because I've been busy.  Voices of Hope had our big fall Gala this Saturday, and life was sort of a whirlwind leading up to that.  But, if I'm being honest, the fact that I was in tech was just an excuse to put this off.  For once, I actually don't want to write something.  I'm not chomping at the bit to share my opinion.  I feel sick, and sad, and I kinda wish I could skip it.

But I can't.  I can't skip it because it's lingering in the back of my mind, and I don't think it will go away until I write something.  And I can't ignore it because I know that the more we talk about these things--the more light we shine on them--the harder it is for them to continue.

Still.  I don't really want to write this.  Bear with me.

 Bottom left, I'm five or six in this picture.

I was probably five the first time a man touched me inappropriately.  I don't really remember precisely, I was little enough that it's one of my earliest memories.  Certainly, I was little enough that I couldn't reach into the rabbit pen at the local pet store and pet the bunnies.  And I wanted to pet the bunnies.  That's why, when a stranger offered to pick me up and hold me so I could reach them, I agreed without hesitation.
I always trusted adults.  There were so many in my life, and they were all trustworthy.  So I assumed it was an accident when his hand--instead of staying safely on the outside of my little jean skirt--found its way beneath the hem and between my legs, hoisting me up in a very intimate grip.  I didn't like it when his fingers slipped under the edge of my underwear, though, so I squirmed until he put me down.  I remember thinking it took a long time to get him to put me down.  Then I ran to find my mother, and tried to forget about the man. 

And I almost did.

But not really.

On the right, about ten.

I was in first grade the first time an authority figure ignored what was going on, right under their nose.  There was a boy in my class--Jeremiah--and everyone knew that he didn't keep his hands to himself.  Our teacher assigned our seating, and always arranged us boy-girl-boy-girl at our little clumped up desks.  Why, I don't know, but she was adamant about sticking to it, so when Jeremiah ran his hands up the girls' legs and they complained she would just move him to sit next to another little girl.
It was warm out when he was moved to sit next to me, and I liked to wear shorts.  Jeremiah would reach out and stick his hand between my knees, sliding his sweaty fingers all the way up my inner thigh until it reached the edge of my shorts.  Then he would squeeze, and breathe hard.  When I complained to the teacher she told me there wasn't anything she could do about it.  She'd already moved him all around the room, and the end of the year was so soon.  Couldn't I just tolerate it for a few weeks?  I spent the rest of the year sitting as far away as my desk would allow, with my legs pressed tightly together.

Eighteen.

I was nine the first time someone pinched my ass on the bus.  I was twelve the first time a boy grabbed my boobs without permission.  I was fourteen when my Sunday School teacher told me he didn't hold with rape, but if a woman was mowing the lawn in a bikini then clearly she was asking for it.  When I was sixteen a guy I disliked just announced he was my boyfriend, and started showing up places when he knew I would be there.  When I was eighteen a male friend took me to his friend's house and basically offered me up like a host gift.  We walked through the door and he said to his friend, "Here, I brought her for you."

Twenty

I have thirty-seven years of stories like this.  My entire life's memory is peppered with them.  I have grown up with these incidents as a facet of my life. 

Some of them are truly frightening--like the time a man followed me from the parking lot late at night in a rest area on I-81, and was waiting when I came out of the bathroom.  He followed me back towards the car, and I started to panic, not knowing what to do.  I will be grateful to my dying day to the friendly man that saw him and stopped to talk to me, refusing to leave until the guy following me finally gave up, got in his car, and drove away.  Thinking about that still terrifies me. 

Some other stories are more commonplace, like the guy who commented loudly on my ass while I was doing some grocery shopping during the heat wave this summer.  Apparently he liked my short shorts.

Twenty-two

All of them--every single one of these stories--are about a man who, in some way or another, treated my body like it wasn't mine.  Like he had some sort of right to it--the right to touch, the right to pass judgement, the right to offer it up.

When people defend the culture of treating women like property, it makes me sick.  I don't care if it's a presidential candidate, or a movie star, or a guy at your office.  When we say "that's just how guys talk" or "he didn't mean anything" we are reinforcing the idea that it's okay for men to think of women this way.  And it isn't.  Even if most of them wouldn't act on it, the perpetration of the thought alone makes it more acceptable for those who want to act on it to do so.

Charlotte, age six.

My daughter has already been kissed without her consent.  She's six.  It's just starting.  She will have a lifetime of stories to tell, as well, and it makes me want to scream and punch things.

Screaming and punching won't help, though.  Instead I will tell her simple truths, and hope they sink in.

Your body belongs to you, and no one else.

You alone have the right to say who can touch you.  You alone have the right to say what you will do with your body.

Enjoy sex.  Laugh at bawdy jokes.  Flirt with people.  None of those things takes away your right to have the final say.

Appreciate the men who ask if they're crossing the line.  Who tell you to let them know if they do.  Those are the men you can trust.

Never be afraid to tell someone when they've crossed a line, even if they don't ask.

Don't judge other women for internalizing this cultural lie of being public property.  They've been misled their whole lives.

Don't be afraid to say no.

Thirty-seven

I will tell her these truths.  And I will tell her all my stories, so that, as she grows, she knows what to look for.  So that she doesn't assume it was an accident.  So she doesn't sit quietly and press her legs together to not make trouble.

I will tell her so that she knows she's not alone in the experience, and that she doesn't have to be ashamed.  So she knows that she didn't do anything wrong.

So that, even if I can't help her learning to accept that this shit happens, at the very least she won't start thinking it's okay.  

It's not okay.

Day 76: I Cannot Keep It In Any Longer

Y'all, I gotta talk about bras.

Okay, look, mostly I don't wear real bras anymore.  I wear these 1/2 sports bra, 1/2 lined cami little doo-hickies that provide a moderate amount of support for daily activities and keep me from poking someone's eye out when the weather turns cold.  Most days these are all I really need out of a boob sling, and that's just fine.

You don't need undergarments when you wear pajamas.

One of life's many blessings.

HOWEVER...
I have actually promised our costume coordinator that I will continue to wear the appropriate undergarments on stage.  You might scoff and think this does not matter.

Trust me.  It matters.

Dancing.  It makes support matter.

So, anyway, I need a bra.  A real bra.  Something with hooks and cups and less elastic than not.  And you'd think this wouldn't be a big deal.  After all, I do still own some from days of yore.  Can't I just wear one of those?


APPARENTLY I CANNOT.

Why not?


I'm glad you asked.

I, like many women, have the joy of what is basically an eternally changing body.  It's not that the fundamentals change--my bones are pretty much what they are, barring breakage, and my ROUGH outline is mostly the same from year to year.  But within that outline, there's a lot of... shifting.

Some of this is due to the natural process of bearing children.  I swelled up, shrunk a bit, swelled even more, then shrunk again.  That's all very well and good. But some of it, as far as I can tell, is because there are gremlins living beneath my skin that shift fatty tissues in the night. 

Yesterday your pants fit but your bra was too small?  No worries, in a few days your bra will be perfect and your pants will give you muffin top!

 I went searching for an image that captured what I was talking about, but got side tracked by this one.  Really?  Really?  Are EITHER of these women complaining about their bodies?  If this is them when they're bloated, what do they NORMALLY look like?

Sorry.  I digress.

Anyway, bloating is just a fact of life, and I'm not really here to complain about it.  I'm REALLY here to complain about bras.

Because they are evil.

And they are expensive.

I say this without hyperbole: the most expensive items of clothing that I own are bras.

Let that sink in for a minute.

Not evening gowns, not coats, not the custom corset I made myself... Nope.  Bras.

IT IS UNCOMFORTABLE, DEMORALIZING, HIGHWAY ROBBERY TO HAVE TO GO BRA SHOPPING.

And yet, here we are.

There should be a therapeutic hotline for this kind of thing.

Day 75: The Fine Line; A Word on Victims

(For Parts One, Two, and Three, click the links.)

Sometimes we don't name what has happened to us because we don't want to be a victim.

We don't want to make a fuss, or cause a scene, or blow things out of proportion.

We don't want to be weak, or fragile, or in need of saving.

We don't want to feel foolish, or duped, or wonder how we could have wound up in the wrong situation in the first place.

I just want to say, in a very loud, clear, and un-hesitating voice:

That's all bullshit.

If you're being mistreated, make all the fuss you want.  Cause a scene and make others take notice.  Don't second guess your own judgement, your proportion is likely 100% correct.

You aren't fragile, or weak, any more than the victims in a bombing were fragile or weak.  You wound up in the wrong place, in the wrong situation, and you got hurt.  It wasn't your fault and it didn't happen because you somehow earned it.

You weren't foolish.  Roughly a third of the population has been abused at some point.  ONE-THIRD.  It stretches across all demographics, and though it is heavily weighted by gender, that is the only consistent factor (and is probably skewed, due to under reporting of emotional abuse by men).  This is a bad thing that happens to roughly a third of the population and you did not cause it.

Victims aren't weak.  They are strong people who lived through something bad.

That's all.

Day 74: The Fine Line; Part Three

In The Fine Line I'm going to talk about sexual assault and abuse.  If you've been a victim, and you cannot tolerate the discussion, I completely understand and I send you on your way with a hug.  No hard feelings.

I talked about abuse in a relationship first (in Part Two) because, as horrible as it is, and as hard to spot as it can be sometimes, it's still easier to identify than many, many cases of sexual assault.  Sure, we all know Brock Tuner is a rapist--

Except of course that we don't, do we?  Not all of us.  There are people who are still uncertain he was a rapist.  Or, if they agree he was a rapist, they don't agree that he should serve a full and complete sentence for that crime.  Or, if they agree he should serve his full sentence, they don't agree that six months is a laughable amount of jail time...

My point is, sexual assault is still viewed differently depending on who you're speaking with.  Abuse we all seem to know is wrong.  Sexual assault, though, has wormed its way so deeply into our culture that it is standard to blame the victim.  If it's a male victim, well, all men are sex crazy and he must have wanted it, am I right?  And if it's a women, well, for god's sake, why was she out alone at that hour?
Why did the victim drink so much?
Why did they agree to go back to the apartment?

And this is for outright rape, the most clear cut and obvious sexual assault charge.  When we start talking about the other assaults that are so abundant in our rape culture, people get even less willing to agree that it's definitely 100% wrong.

Let's play a game.  I'm going to make a list of all the things that count as sexual assault (when they're non-consensual.  Oddly enough, we don't have a ton of words other than "rape" that include lack of consent as part of the basic definition).  See if I can find any that you're not comfortable with having on the list.

Rape: including vaginal, anal, oral, and digital sex acts
Flashing: all kinds, both in person and online.  We're talking dick pics here, people.
Voyeurism: if you're watching them and they don't know about it
Groping: touching a person's body without their permission, not limited to their ass or boobs or crotch.
Kissing: cheek, mouth, forehead... doesn't matter
Hugging: that's right, folks.  Hugs also require consent.
ALSO*:
talking about Raping
talking about Sex
talking about Flashing
talking about Voyeurism
talking about Groping
talking about Kissing
talking about Hugging

*when I say talking about I am referring specifically to saying you would do this to a person.  Not that you can't discuss hugging in a general way in public.

Now, raise your hand if you're a little uncomfortable with some of those restrictions.

If you didn't raise your hand, you've either thought about this a lot, or you're just refusing to take orders from a blog post.  I made the damn list, and I'm uncomfortable with it.  I mean, I spent years hugging people all the time without consent.  According to this list, I am a many-times sexual aggressor.  And maybe I didn't mean to make anyone uncomfortable, and maybe I didn't even mean it in a sexual way, but that doesn't matter in the slightest.

What's important is how my hugs were received.  And without asking--without knowing they were welcome--I was crossing the line.  

I'm telling you this because I want you to know that I fully understand the import of what I'm saying when I say the following:

If you aren't sure how they'll take it, don't say it, and for damn sure don't do it.

That girl you sent explicit texts, and she didn't really respond, but you kept going just in case she was into it?
Assault.
That guy you kissed because he was hot and all guys like to be kissed?
Assault.
That woman you casually ground your crotch into on the subway?
Assault.
That guy you dry humped while he was almost passed out on the couch?
Assault.

Maybe you were lucky.  Maybe you took a chance and it turned out they really were into it and by sheer luck you didn't end up making someone really uncomfortable.  Here's a better question:  would you know?  I mean, the silence surrounding sexual assault is legendary.  Sometimes victims don't ever confront those that assault them, let alone report it to the police.

Forgive me for sailing into gendered territory but... if you present female, you probably already know what I'm talking about.  If you present male, just go find a few of your women friends, and ask if they're willing to answer the following questions for you:

Have you ever found a hug going on longer than you'd like, or someone taking the opportunity to kiss you hello, and you felt you had no choice but to endure it because to do otherwise would make a scene?

Has anyone ever said anything sexual to you that made you uncomfortable, but you didn't know what to do, so you laughed it off?

Has anyone ever taken your silence as an excuse to keep going?

Most women will answer yes to at least one if not all three of these.  Many men will, too.  Don't assume that just because no one has ever said anything that you must be in the clear.

The thing is, we have the most amazingly articulate communication system in our species.  This is an easy problem to fix.

Just ask.

Only proceed if you get an enthusiastic yes.

It's that simple.

But--and I hate to harp on this, but I have to--it only works if we all admit how frequently we come too close to the line.  How maybe we've even crossed it a few times.  How it's not okay to cross it, and that means we've got to be a bit more adult in our approach to getting with some hottie.  How this culture of permission keeps perpetrating because we're all buying into it, and that simply isn't a thing we can continue.

Okay.  Damn, this is so long.  But I've got one more thing.  A Word on Victims.
    

Day 73: The Fine Line; Part Two

In The Fine Line I'm going to talk about sexual assault and abuse.  If you've been a victim, and you cannot tolerate the discussion, I completely understand and I send you on your way with a hug.  No hard feelings.

In Part One I suggested that most of us had probably crossed the line into abuse at one time or another.  If we're all perpetrators, it's also true that we're all victims.

I imagine a bunch of people will balk at this idea, none of us really wants to be a victim.  But let me ask you:

Have you ever been hit by a partner?
Has someone you're in an intimate relationship with ever been violent or threatened violence to someone/something else as a way of bringing you in line?
Has your partner ever called you a slut, a prude, a whore, a tease, frigid, a bitch or anything else that was meant to shame or hurt you? (excluding consensual dirty talk)
Have you ever been afraid to tell your partner the truth, or to act naturally around them, because of how they might behave?  (this can include worrying that they'll hurt you, hurt themselves, or verbally attack you)
Has your partner ever interfered with who you are allowed to see/spend time with/be friends with?
Has your partner ever shut down on you, and refused to engage with you, because you would not behave how they wanted you to behave?

Abuse isn't always straightforward, and it isn't always easy to spot.  That guy you know, who wants to leave his girlfriend but is afraid she'll spiral out of control?  He's being abused.  That girl you know, who fell out of touch with all her friends once she started seeing her boyfriend, because he doesn't like her to go out without him?  She's being abused.  That couple you know, where one of them likes to talk about how hopeless and useless the other one is?  They have an abusive relationship.

If these things--any of these things--have ever happened to you, then you have been the victim of abuse.  And if you're pretty sure your partner is a decent person, and doesn't realize what they're doing, you need to sit down with them and have a talk about it.  If you're too scared to talk to them, that's a big warning flag right there, and you need to think long and hard about the relationship you're in.

If these things are happening to a friend, sit down and talk to them, and encourage them to talk to their partner.  Don't become a bully in your own right--if your friend is being abused in a non-overt way, it may take them a while to see it, and they certainly don't need you being mean to them while they're coming to terms with it--but let them know that you don't think they're being treated in a loving and respectful way.

If you think you might be doing some of these things, sit down and talk to your partner about it.  Don't assume that, just because they never said anything, everything is okay.  Maybe you both come away with an understanding that they just love it when you get all jealous and demand that they stop seeing their friends, but you won't know unless you ask.  And if you ask, and it turns out they don't love it, be prepared to change.

Part Three is here.

Day 72: The Fine Line; Part One

In The Fine Line I'm going to talk about sexual assault and domestic abuse.  If you've been a victim, and you cannot tolerate the discussion, I completely understand and I send you on your way with a hug.  No hard feelings.

Let's start with some definitions.  Sexual assault is sexual contact or behavior that is unwelcome.  This ranges from someone being raped behind a dumpster to someone having unsolicited dick pics sent to them.  Sometimes we like to call this by less intense names.  "Harassment," maybe, or in far too many cases "just some over the top flirting."  But I'm not going to beat around the bush.  If it's sexual in nature, and the recipient didn't want it, that's sexual assault.

Abuse is a much broader umbrella term than sexual assault, but for today I'm interested in the types of abuse that occur within a relationship.  These include: physical, sexual, social, and psychological abuse, as well as neglect and intimidation.  They can manifest in a lot of different ways, from hitting your partner, to controlling their life, to ignoring them, to bullying them.  We call this a lot of different things in a lot of different scenarios, but many times we shy away from naming it as abuse outright.

Now that the definitions are laid out, I want to say a few words about why I think we are so hesitant to acknowledge the sexual assault and abuse we see going on around us, or even as it's happening to us.  Basically, it all boils down to the following:

The perpetrator is someone we know, and we think they're a good person.

Here's the thing--you don't have to be a bad person to abuse someone.  Not all abuse is intentional.  Some of it is a cycle of behavior you never even reflected on, and so it just continues.

Not all sexual assault is intentional.  People misread signals, and humans in general seem to really suck at clear cut sexual communication.  More over, we've done a really bad job of appropriately labeling sexual assault in particular, which means sometimes people who are committing it literally do not know that what they're doing isn't just aggressive flirting.   

And I get it.  It's easy to make excuses.  Especially when we see what someone else is doing and know that even if we haven't done the exact same thing, we've done something very similar ourselves.  And none of us would ever sexually assault someone, would we?  None of us are abusers, right?

Right?

Maybe the key to ending abuse and sexual assault is to stop pretending that the perpetrators are somehow different than the rest of us.  Sure, not all of us would break into someone's house and rape them.  Not all of us would go after our partner with our fists.  But assault and abuse, like most things, aren't a binary.  They're a continuum, and at one time or another we've probably all crossed the fine line.  That time I meant to joke, but instead was cruel.  The time you wanted to flatter, and instead were creepy.

I think the measure of each of us is not in whether or not we've ever crossed the line by accident.  It's what we did after that line got crossed.  Did we apologize sincerely and try to avoid it ever again?  Or did we bluster and hold our ground, insisting that, since we didn't mean any harm, we couldn't possibly have caused any harm?

The more willing we are to see the times we came too close to the line, the easier it is to admit when other good, decent, totally human people--people just like us--do the same thing.  We don't have to defend them in their error, because we're not trying to defend ourselves by proxy.

Everyone good and uncomfortable?  Great, go ahead and move on to Part Two

Day 71: Hello, Brick Wall

Sometimes things all just happen in a succession of awful, and you run into a brick wall.

 Wall, meet head.  Head, wall.  You two play nice.

Now, let's be clear.  For the most part, when this happens, none of the awful is that awful.  Sure, sometimes things are actually horrible and there are hospital visits involved, but for the most part the brick wall is made up of things that are just average, every day awful.

Like, a major parenting decision goes awry, and you end up feeling like you're foundering.

And something else happens, and it just emphasizes how very on-your-own you are when it comes to this whole parenting thing.

And then, while you're discussing how awful being a single parent is with your friends, your child (in what can only be deemed an attempt to emphasize the thing you've been dwelling on) throws up all over the place. 

So you clean everything up, and you go home*, and you put your kids to bed.  Then you go sit in your room and hold your teddy bear while you try to remember that you are a strong, capable woman.

 Do not let the Teddy Bear fool you.

This is the face of a strong, capable woman.

You know, sometimes there are things in your life that are just hard to accept.


*Also, as an added bonus, your dog tries to kill your beloved friend's beloved pet.  It isn't really topical, but it sure does manage to add to the pile of crap.

Day 70: Open Mouth, Speak Truth.

This one has been percolating in my brain for quite a while now, so...  Might wanna hang on to something. 

Here's the gist:

You'd think it would be simple, right?  Language was created so that we could communicate, and the foundation of what we learn when we first begin to speak is to say straightforward and honest facts about ourselves.  "More" when we want more.  "No" when we are displeased.  And, in the case of one charming little cherub I know, "poop" when we need our needs tended to.

We all learn to be straightforward and truthful when we are young.  That knowledge is ingrained deeply in us, so why, then, do we spend so much of our time on lies and half-truths?  Why do we say so little of substance, and so much that is designed to mask our real feelings?  Why do we use our words to hide, rather than reveal?

Why do we do this to ourselves?

This is about to get complicated, so I'm gonna go ahead and whip out some sub-sections.


Rape Culture

Rape culture is built around a number of harmful social patterns, and I am not in the least trying to imply that a little bit of truthfulness will end in everyone walking hand in hand through a field of daisies and never aggressing against each other ever again.  There's so much more to it than that.  But, in the wake of that stupid Headphones article, I can't stop thinking about the terrible damage that gets done by the simple idea that, sometimes, "no" means "yes."

 Campaigns against rape like to plaster the slogan "No always means No" on posters.  It's also a popular chant at rallies.  And I would like to approve of this--


I can't believe I'm actually going to say this.  Please aim for the torso, not the head.

--but I don't.  I don't approve of it because it isn't true.  We all know it isn't true.  And because we know it isn't true it removes the impact of the real message, which is that we all need to act like it is 100% absolutely true all the time, unless we have explicit permission to do otherwise.

The reason we all know it isn't true is because we've all been in a place when "no" didn't mean "no." 

"Do you want the last piece of cake?" 
"Do you mind if I go out with your friend?"
"Do you wanna come back to my place?"

We say "no."  But what we mean is yes, I want that piece of cake, but I'm afraid you'll judge me.  I don't want you to go out with my friend, that's going to make things awkward, but I don't want to tell you what to do, either.  I'd love to come over, but I have hang-ups about sex.  Those are the honest answers.  But we don't use them.  We say "no" instead, because it's faster, it requires less explaining, and leaves us less vulnerable.  We don't have to reveal our soft, emotional, squishy bits when we just say "no."

 Actually, I don't say no to the last piece of cake.

And I get that.  I get that "no" is easier.  But it also leaves us all with an ingrained awareness that "no" doesn't always mean "no."  Sometimes it means something far more complicated and, occasionally, negotiable.  And because we all know this, people insist on using it as an excuse for some truly reprehensible behavior. 

Wouldn't it be better if we all just said what we actually mean?  If not fully, at least partially? 

"Yes, I want the cake, but I'm not going to eat it." 
"I think it's best if you make this decision on your own, regardless of my feelings."
"I'd love to come over, but I think it's wiser if I go home tonight."

Those are safer answers, less vulnerable, but they still have the wonderful trait of being true.  They close that loophole that people keep driving through in freight trains bearing massive loads of social conditioning and the expectation that sometimes it's okay to push a little when someone says "no."  They bring us closer to the time when "no" really does mean "no."

Hell, I'm so invested in this idea that I just taught my eight year old about safewords.  He and his grandfather were playing a tickling game, and I walked through the living room listening to him shrieking "No!  NO!" only to leap back on his grandfather the moment the tickling stopped.  I paused, looked at Elliot, and said,

"Elliot, do you have a code word for when you really mean you want him to stop?"
"A code word?"
"Yeah, like, you're saying 'no' and 'stop', but do you have a word to say when you really want him to stop?"
"Like what?"
"Like 'sardines'."  His grandfather said.
"Yeah.  Like 'sardines'."  I echoed.
"So I say 'sardines' if I want him to stop?"
"Yeah."
"Okay."  Tickling resumes.  "No!  NOOOOOOOO!"

Boom.  Safewords.

Of course, that method relies on communication.  So, if you don't know someone well enough to set up a code, better to just stick to honesty for now.  The more of us that are honest, the smaller that stupid loophole gets.


Broken Relationships

This one... Y'all, I probably have a whole book's worth of thoughts on this, but I think I'm going to start with a brief story.

I have a friend (actual friend, not half-assed pseudonym for myself) who has been sorta, maybe, kinda, starting a relationship with this guy she works with.  It's complicated, for a variety of reasons I won't go into here, but I talk to her about it a lot.  This is only fair and right, because she talks to me about the things that are going on in my life.  We are, as far as I know, completely honest with each other (at least to the point where we only lie to each other if we're already lying to ourselves, but that's not relevant to this PARTICULAR sub-section, so we'll put it on the shelf for now.)  She tells me the things she's feeling, and I tell her what I think about what she's said, and we communicate.  Because of that, I know a lot about how she's feeling, and the reasons behind it, and I can more easily understand why she does what she does in certain situations.

You know who doesn't know any of this shit?

The dude she's interested in.

Now, I'm going to go ahead and interject that my friend is not unique in this situation.  In fact, I'd say she's pretty typical.  Forging a relationship with someone (any kind of relationship, really, not just the romantic ones) leaves us feeling vulnerable.  And what do we do when we're feeling vulnerable?

We hide. 

We take the soft, squishy parts of ourselves and we pretend they don't exist.  As though if we pretend hard enough, we won't be able to get hurt.  That's a lie we tell ourselves, but we tell it so hard that we believe it, and we stuff those emotions down deep.  Then we engage in the weirdest, most convoluted games in order to keep them hidden.  Don't sound too needy, don't sound too interested, don't tell them how you really feel. 

Nothing here to see.

Because god forbid you should tell someone what's actually going on in your head. 

They might not like it. 

They might reject you.

But--and this is what I cannot fathom--why does anyone want to be with someone who would reject them for how they feel?  Your feelings are what they are.  If they are unacceptable to someone, then that is someone you do not need in your life.  If you keep them in your life--this person who needs you to hide your feelings away--then you are doing yourself a terrible disservice.  How long will you hide?  A month?  A year?  A lifetime?

Another friend (again, real friend) has pointed out that this is not the same thing as compromise.  Relationships are grounded in compromise, and we all need to be willing to meet on some middle ground.  Perhaps, in your relationship, your partner hates doing the dishes, but will load the dishwasher because it's important to you, and you hate taking out the trash, but will do it because it's important to them.  In that case, both of you know the reality, you are merely compromising.  It is entirely different than if you secretly hate doing the dishes, but you once told them you loved it, because you thought that was what they wanted to hear, and now you do them all the time, and your partner even volunteers you to clean up after big holiday meals.

One is compromise.  The other is remaining a stranger to those closest to you.  Hiding who you are, and how you feel, in the hopes that it will make you more acceptable to someone.  But--and this is so important, I just have to repeat it--why do you want to be acceptable to someone who does not like who you truly are? 

print by Liz Climo

Open your mouth and say what is true about yourself.  If they don't like it, they were never a good fit for you, anyway.


Becoming Who We Are Not

This leads me tidily into my last sub-section, where I stop talking about my friends, and speak from personal experience.

If you spend long enough hiding the parts of yourself that you worry are unacceptable, eventually you'll forget they're there.  You won't just be lying to other people at that point, you'll be lying to yourself.  Telling yourself that the person you have hidden is not who you truly are. 

Mental Disorder by tiffanydraws

If you tell this lie to yourself long enough, eventually you will become someone you are not.

The words that come from your mouth will be what you think someone else wants to hear, and not what you want to say. 

The things that you do will be to please others, rather than to please yourself.

And all the time, while you turn yourself into a puppet that dances to other people's expectations, you will not understand why you feel so frustrated.  So confused.  So twisted up.  Because you have forgotten that these things you are doing were never what you wanted.  You have forgotten who you are, on the inside.

 Marionette by Trisha McNally

Lies spread.  The longer they last, the more people believe them.  Sometimes even the one who told them in the first place.  Sometimes even the one they are about.  The only way to combat this is to tell the truth.  To be relentless in representing yourself as you really are, even if there are people who do not care for that person. 

Not everyone will.  But hopefully you will. 

So... be honest. 

Be honest because society needs it.  We need people who are unafraid to be truthful even when it's scary, who are not so desperate to hide their vulnerabilities and oddities that we make deception a part of the culture.

Be honest because it's the only way to foster truly worthwhile relationships, where you can love and respect one another without having to agree on every detail.  Where you can be who you are and not fear constant censure.

And be honest because, in the end, it's the best gift you can give yourself.  To let yourself be who you are is a worthy and valuable thing, and no one else can do it for you.